


If you fall asleep down by the water,

by LadyVisenya



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Autism Spectrum, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Selkies, i was picturing junior or senior year and i dont think i ever decided on which, not heavily but theyre there, pennywise is a shark but not a big part of this at all, stans on the spectrum but i dont think its a big thing or developed, theyre all in high school, this is one of the most self indulgent things ive ever written
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-07 09:12:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12837972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyVisenya/pseuds/LadyVisenya
Summary: “So you have no clue where to start looking,” Stan says because honestly Bill, what the hell does caught mean? He needs clear answers and perimeters. All of this is too vague.But he did promise.The right thing to do, according to his dad, is to hand Bill over to the cops and let the officials take care of this.He promised.





	1. the boy on the beach

Stan Uris had always loved to go down to the beach and watch the birds. It was a habit he had picked up from his father. Even at three Stan had preferred to watch the birds and learn all the little facts about them his father knew rather than to scare them off like most kids his age. Stan hated getting sand all over himself, leaving his shoes in the car, rather than getting them sandy. But he could ignore the way it would get everywhere to watch the sand pipers run up to the waves. 

His dad was always having to keep him from walking out into the waves, eyes glued to his binoculars, still clean as the day he’d gotten them, following the birds, trying to memorize what it looked like so he could look it up later in the bird guide that sat on his dad’s desk besides the torah. 

Spring was his favorite time to go out and birdwatch. Sometimes, if he was good, his dad would take him out before school, when the birds were just waking up and going out to find food for their young. It was when Stan could spot the most birds, when they were at shore raising their young. Stan’s dad would laugh after, as Stan took out a microfiber towel and cleaning solution his mom had bought just for him, to clean his binoculars so the sand wouldn’t damage them. 

“Only you,” he’d say, before picking Stan up into his arms, carrying him the rest of the way back. At four, five, and even a little bit at six, this had been easy. Stan had been a skinny kid. Knobby knees and a quiet voice. 

Then they’d go eat breakfast at home, runny eggs with rye bread and crispy bacon that only his mom ever got right. 

If it was Sunday, there would be bagels with cream cheese and briny lox and tomatoes, that were sometimes from the garden his mom had out back, with his dad giving Stan sips of coffee behind his mom’s back. 

Stan couldn’t remember exactly when his dad had stopped taking him out to birdwatch. 

It didn’t matter. 

Stan was hooked. 

And every week, he’d spend as much time as he could going down to the state beach, to the ecological reserves, where he could watch birds go about their days. 

Unfortunately, high school left him very little time since he wanted to get into some of the best universities and get scholarships to actually be able to go. 

*

“They’re just ducks Stan,” Eddie said, walking next to Stan. They were going to meet Ben, Bev, and Mike at the library. Although whether Bev would actually show up was up in the air a good half of the time. She’d been more into getting high with the art kids this year than studying, even considered dropping AP English. “Ducks! Do you have idea how many diseases they have! It’s called the avian bird flu for a reason. My mom has a friend who’s niece was hospitalized after eating one of those stuffed duck things. She spent six months! Six months! In the hospital!”

“Your mom doesn’t have any friends,” Stan replied, rolling his eyes, wishing he smoked so he could look even more dramatic as he said it. 

“That was not the fucking point!”

They walked to their usual place in the library, a table in the lowest floor, by the newspaper records room. There was usually no one else back here seeing as people preferred to grab the tables by the coffee cart. 

Eddie still got freaked out by their defend down the stairs, even the lighting down here was bad. But no one cared what they did down here, what food they ate, or how loud they got. Beverly had even smoked once with only Stan and Eddie telling her off. 

“We get out at the same time,” Ben complained, wearing Mike’s letterman jacket to keep warm from the air conditioning they blasted in the library like the city hadn’t just cut their funds, “how are you too always the last to get here.”

“Henry,” they both reply at the same time. 

“Bowers needs to learn to fuck off,” muttered Mike, without taking his eyes off his calc homework once. 

“How long is the star quarterback here for today?”

“Skipping practice actually,” he replied, “I’ve got a test tomorrow.”

“Mr. Pritchard is fucking evil,” Ben uttered, “we’ve not even gotten our last quiz back and already we’ve got a test.”

“So glad I took stats,” Stan told them. 

“Don’t make eye contact with him,” Eddie yelled, “he’s trying to shanghai someone into waking up at four in the morning to go watch the birds like some fucking nutcase. Only crazy people wake up at four in the morning when they don’t _need_ to Stan.” 

Stan rolled his eyes, dragging out his AP economics textbook while wondering why he had chosen to take a class he didn’t even need. Just to make his life harder than it needed to be. Just another reason to reorganize everything by color or alphabetical order depending on his mood at three in the morning while trying not to have a mental breakdown, he guessed. 

None of his friends, except Mike, had bothered with AP Econ, and of course Mike had dropped it after the only AP Econ class conflicted with football practice. Football meant scholarships. And scholarships meant being able to afford the sixty-thousand dollar a years university tuitions. 

_Owls can turn their heads almost three hundred and sixty degrees, but can’t move their eyes._

“No way man,” Mike said, looking over at Stan, giving him an apologetic smile, “got to get a good night’s rest if I’m going to ace the test and win the big game.”

Eddie opted for emptying the content of his backpack onto the table, loose pages of god knows what assignments went everywhere. 

Stan counted to ten in his head, taking long even breaths. 

“Ben?” Mike asked for him.

“Beverly’s dragging me to some garage concert in the next town,” he told them, “remember, we invited you guys and you all said no even though this is easily the best band that’s played anywhere near Derry.” Richie and Beverly hadn’t shut up about it for weeks since they’d learned one of their favorite bands was coming to play and it wasn’t a twenty-one and over show. 

“I know,” Mike said, flipping to a fresh piece of paper, all his math problems cleanly done in an easy to follow order, “but I had the game.” He gives Ben a soft look, eyes sparkling, “you know I’d go with you guys if I could. That band is peak gay lesbian solidarity.”

“Okay. Okay, we get it,” Eddie cut in, “you guys are really gay for each other, go kiss behind the bookshelves or something. I’m trying to study here.” He was attempting to straighten out the crumpled piece of paper with his latest english assignment, an essay on Hamlet. 

Stan signed, shoving Eddie’s mess away form him. “Its fine, I’ll just go by myself. It’s only like four miles from my house.”

“You sure? You could get hypothermia out in the cold at that hour, or the tide could drag you out to sea and then you’d go all Leonardo DiCaprio on us.”

“Or a cold, if we’re talking realistically,” Ben said, smirking at Eddie. 

“Fuck off.”

“Yeah,” Stan said, more confidently, “It’ll be nice.” And it would. There was nothing Stan loved more than being up before anyone else was, just alone with the birds for company, flying in their perfect V formation down south for the winter. He’d probably have to take a blanket, but it would be worth it now that he had an actual camera that wasn’t just his phone’s pixelated zoomed in pictures. 

A birthday present he didn’t deserve from his friends who pooled their money together to afford it. Mostly Mike and Beverly, who had actual jobs unlike the rest of them. 

“I can give you a ride afterword though,” Mike offered, “swing by and pick you up from the beach. It’s on my way, so it’s no problem.”

“Sure.”

“Do be careful about the tides though,” Ben added, “Eddie’s right. They’re dangerous at that hour.”

Sarcastically, Stan responds, “good to know Benjamin. Not like I’ve lived by the beach my whole life or anything.”

*

It was a mistake, Stan decided when the alarm went off at three in the morning, to get up and go birdwatching at four in the morning. People should not be awake so early. It wasn’t natural. It was just to early. Six am was the perfect time to wake up. 

His phone was on his nightstand, so he had to get out of bed to turn it off, he might as well get up. 

He took a lukewarm shower, not convinced he wouldn’t curl up back in bed if he took a warm shower. Stan grabbed the thick blanket his grandmother had knitted him one hanukkah when they had all piled into the car and driven to New York City, before his dad had been asked by their synagogue to be their rabbi, and the bag he had packed for today and went off into the still dark morning. 

The air cut right through the sweater he wore. 

He was practically frozen by the time he had gotten to the state beach, carefully locking his bike, not willing to risk it getting stolen even if no one else would be up for another two hours at least. He left it on the pavement, knowing any closer and the sand would get in the gears, ruining it slowly the way sand got into everything here. 

Even at his school, he could taste the saltwater and sand in the air. 

He grabbed his camera for a change, still hanging his binoculars from his neck, and waited to watch to migrations. The same migrations that had happened along the same skies for thousands of years and would continue long after he was gone. The same migrations that Stan would watch in the spring when the birds came back north, when he’d get to see the babies hatch and learn to fly. 

Stan knew how to get close without bothering the birds.

He took pictures for the first hour, having read and played with the light settings beforehand. 

Then draped the blanket around his shoulders, not being able to stomach the cold for long, and used his binoculars just to watch. 

“American black duck, common eider, long tailed duck, pipping plover,” he whispered to himself the names he’d learned as a child. When he closed his eyes he could still see himself flipping through his dad’s bird guidebook, his dad helping him with words he couldn’t pronounce. 

That’s probably why he didn’t notice the boy who walked out of the waves, naked except for a brown soft fur blanket pulled over his shoulders, blue eyes wide in confusion, until he was right in front of Stan, collapsing in front of him, looking more like a newborn colt learning to walk than a boy Stan’s age.

Stan screamed. 

The teen, recoiled from him, mirroring his own startlement. His wet auburn bangs were brushed back and out of his eyes by pale porcelain skin, face soft and round and Stan couldn’t stop from staring at the stranger. 

He had lived in Derry all his life. He knew everyone in Derry, and he had never seen this boy before. 

The boy looked away, looked at the goosebumps on his arms in amazement, even as his lips were turning blue from the cold, his body shivering from the cold.

“Are you okay?” Fuck, what's he thinking. No one walking around naked at this time was okay. 

When he looked up at Stan, he got the funniest feeling in his chest. The boy then said in the softest and kindest voice he had ever heard in his life, “have you seen Guh-Georgie?” 

He was now even more confused now. “Aren’t you cold?”

“Is that why-“ the boy said, with an open and far too trusting face, glancing down at himself.

Stan wasn’t sure where he was from, but he was obviously lost and maybe a touch daft, too be wandering around, probably swimming judging from his still wet hair.  

He handed the stranger the blanket he had brought with him. The one he wore was wet and not doing him any favors. 

The beautiful stranger only tilted his head up at Stan from where he laid on the sand.  

Stan rolled his eyes, and leaned down to wrap the blanket around the stranger, who went rigid at Stan’s touch, watching him carefully and with a touch of fear in his wide blue eyes. “For the cold.”

“O-oh.”

“I’m Stan,” he said, offering his hand to the stranger. The boy only looked at Stan’s hand strangely, with a puzzled expression gracing his delicate features. 

“William, but every-wuh-one juh-just calls me Bill.” 

Bill looked away from Stan, staring out at the waves with a longing, a glassiness to his eyes. 

“Oh,” said Stan, surprised to spot a few brown heads bobbing in the water, “seals. We rarely get those down here. A lot more common further north.” He was more a bird person really. Never cared for the rest of the animals as much as he had the birds. 

Bill remained silent and Stan wasn’t sure he had heard him. 

“Come on,” he said, “we need to get you warmed up or you’ll end up getting pneumonia like my friend Eddie did back in eight grade. His mom made the doctors keep him for a week after he had gotten better, but the hospital had HBO so it wasn’t all bad.”

Bill only shook his head, lips in a slight pout, standing up on shaky legs, “I-I’ve got to find G-guh-Georgie. He’s my bro-oh-brother, and h-he-he’s lost.”

“You won’t be able to if you’re in a hospital?”

“W-wuh-what’s a hos-hospital?”

At Stan’s expression Bill cleared his throat, “kidding.” He even threw in a small smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.  

Stan had to help him up, half carrying him back to where his bike was. He texted Mike to bring some clothes, to come now instead of when he’d told him too. It was the same spot all his friends knew Stan loved to go to. 

Bill rested his weight against Stan, wiggling his toes in the sand with a childish glee to his face, occasionally wincing when he stepped on particularly sharp shells, yelping. 

He watched Bill carefully, tying to figure out why he was acting like he’d never been outside before. He’d even looked at Stan’s phone with novelty. Bill was an open book, unguarded in showing his fascination with everything around them, especially Stan’s phone.

 Stan gave Bill his sweater, feeling uncomfortable at how carelessly he walked, flashing Stan every five seconds. “For the cold.” The heat rising to Stan’s cheeks had nothing to do with it either. 

Bill accepted it, then let go off the two blankets, the one he’d had with him had soaked through the blanket Stan had given him. Stan’s cheeks burned red as Bill pulled the sweater over his head, giving Stan an easy smile. “Thank y-yuh-thanks.”

Looking anywhere but at the teen changing in front of him he replied, “You’ve got to be careful. It’s starting to get really cold.”

“I didn’t think it wuh-would be this cold,” is all Bill gives as an explanation, wrapping the blanket Stan had handed him around his thin waist, and a surprising amount of muscle definition for such a lithe build, before carefully picking up his own soaking wet one. He dusts the sand off and folds it. 

On a closer inspection, he realizes its not brown, not even close. The blanket is rich in browns and reds that catch the little sunlight that’s out. It’s a shade darker than Bill’s hair. It looks so soft and silky, Stan has the urge reach over and run his fingers through it. 

“You should dry that,” Stan tells him, trying to keep the silence from growing awkward, “or it’ll get moldy from being wet and damp.”

Bill just holds it close to his chest, glancing around as through his brother would appear any second. 

Instead it’s Mike. 

He’s driving the old volvo that his grandfather had promised him on his sixteenth birthday so long as he could keep his 4.0 GPA and fix the car on his own. Mike’s grandfather was all about working hard for what you want in life. It’s an ugly yellow, paint chipping slightly with duck tape holding the headlight in until Mike had time to replace it. 

The car driving towards them startles Bill causing him to fall over in his haste to back away, sending him sprawling into the sand. Stan stifles the urge to laugh at him, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

Mike gets out to help Stan shove the bike in the back, giving him a questioning look after seeing Bill get up, clinging to Stan as he stands slightly behind the taller boy, arm still gripping his shoulder to steady himself. “You got me. I have no words.” 

“Did you bring the clothes?”

“Yeah, but I figured you’d finally walked into the ocean trying to spot a puffin not that-“

Stan cut him off, not being able to help correcting Mike, “It’s the Atlantic Puffin. Not just puffin. But it doesn’t matter right now.”

The clothes turned out to be a pair of old jeans and a shirt that Mike had probably dug out of the back of his closet, the closest thing that would fit Stan. Bill wasn’t much smaller than Stan, only an inch or two shorter and slighter. Either way, Mike was broader from his time playing varsity sports and working on his grandfather’s farm than either of them.

“Clothes,” Stan said, handing them off to Bill who promptly pulled on the worn jeans but ignored the shirt, keeping Stan’s sweater. They sat low on his waist, dragging on the ground. 

God, he was still barefoot. 

Stan swallowed, looking away from the sliver of smooth skin exposed because of the ill fitting jeans and into Bill’s wide and too trusting eyes. He was waiting for him, he realized.  

“Is there anywhere we can drop you off,” Mike asked, “your home for instance?”

“Where do you live,” Stan added feeling emboldened by Mike’s presence, “I’ve never seen you around before, and Derry’s a small town.”  

“We muh-move ara-around a lot,” was his non answer. “But Juh-Georgie got l-luh-lost and they w-w-wuh-I need to find him.” His lip trembled as he stammered out a reply, obviously troubled and trying hard to look like he was fine. 

Stan knew what that was like. He hated losing it. He hated it even more when people asked him, looking at him like he was an explosion waiting to happen. Stan hated crying in front of people. 

Year of pretending to be fine had turned Stan into a talented liar. He had perfected the art of looking better than he felt. 

Mike gave him a look. 

Stan ignored him, “Well we’ve got school and we can’t take you there. But I could probably hide you at my house. My mom has her book club today so she’ll be out of the house.”

“Doesn’t your dad go home for lunch?”

Stan looks at Bill, “you can stay quiet right?”

He nodded, “but I need to l-look-“ 

“For Georgie,” Stan finishes for him. At least Bill’s lips aren’t blueish anymore. “I know. We can look after school.” He was sure that was the best way to make sure Bill didn’t wander off. 

Bill looks like he’s about to protest so he adds, “You don’t know the town. Wait for me and I’ll help you.” And he meant it. He felt strangely possessive of the boy he had found on the beach. 

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.” 

Stan helps him into the back seat of Mike’s car, trying to ignore the feeling of Bill’s hands on him as Bill uses him as a crutch, his steps still shaky. He has to wrestle the wet blankets from Bill so he can spread them out and let them dry, especially the one he had to begin with, only calming down when he saw that Stan was just laying them out to dry. 

Mike gives Stan a look, but chooses to wait until they’re alone to say anything, using the mirror to catch glances of Bill staring out the window out at the sea. 

“This whole thing’s weird,” Mike says quietly, his tone steady and sure. It’s a quality that has made Mike a shoe in for captain next year. “I mean, you just find him alone and-it just sits wrong with me and I can’t put my finger on why.”

“Bill’s strange but I don’t think he’s,” Stan trails off, realizing how stupid it would sound if he defended a boy he’d just met. 

“Not Bill. He seems nice enough. Just the whole situation is weird,” he said as they pulled into the school’s parking lot just as the first period bell rang, “I know I don’t need to tell you Stan, but be careful.”

*

 

He runs home after school. 

Doesn’t even wait for Ben to get out of his desk and walk with him like he usually does. They share Government together. They haven’t sat by each other since their teacher last mixed up the seating arrangement. 

Stan had spent the whole day a bundle of nerves, arranging and rearranging his desk multiple times over each period, sorting his pens into the correct order. Multiple pencil cases had come and gone while Stan had found one that didn’t make a ton of noise when he opened it. He was convinced that everyone was staring at him when he made to much noise, wanting to disappear in embarrassment, wanting to stop being too much. 

For once, the nerves weren’t because of test result or having to see his latest essay all marked up, red pen bleeding all over. At least there were no more creative writing assignments in AP English. He’d hated those, always at a loss when there weren't strict guideline to follow, when he didn’t know exactly what he was supposed to do. Stan was so used to following everything to a T, he was lost when he was left to come up with his own ideas. 

It made it easy to agree with his dad when he’d told him that accounting was a good major to go into. Stan had no clue what to do otherwise, spiraling into panic and stress while organizing and reorganizing his clothes. It was too much to have to pick a major not knowing where that would lead him. Where his life would go because of that choice.

No. His thoughts were all centered around the boy on the beach. 

Mike hadn’t told the others about Bill. 

And they all had other things on their mind. It wasn’t that crazy that Mike had picked Stan up from the beach. He hadn’t given them any reason to be nosy. Stan had been friends with them all long enough to know how to keep a straight face, how to keep Richie, who had a sixth sense for gossip, out of his hair. 

If Richie had known something was up, there was no way Stan could dissuade him until he was done with his rampage while getting to the bottom of it. Persistence and pestering was the reason Richie had even figured out about Beverly’s dad back in middle school. 

In class his thoughts had never strayed far from the boy he’d found on the beach. Was he still in Stan’s room? Had his parent’s found Bill there? Of course not. They would have already taken him out of class to explain. He wondered how Bill had ended up on the beach naked. A thousand questions and Bill hadn’t even given him one clear answer. Not really, just muddled answers that made no sense. 

Stan hoped he was. There was no way of knowing if he had waited for Stan to go looking for his brother. It made him all the more anxious to get home. 

Maybe he should have just ditched. Richie and Bev were always ditching and nothing ever happened to them. But the Toziers were also laid back hippies who though the education system was broken and just indoctrinating kids into patriotism and capitalism. 

Andrea and Donald both would have had a conniption if they got a phone call home asking where Stan was instead of in fifth period. His dad expected Stan to always do the right thing, which to him was very clear to anyone who bothered to figure what the right thing was. 

Sweat had soaked through his sweater by the time he made it home, heart pounding in his chest. Stan couldn't remember the last time he had ridden his bike at top speed. He wasn’t about to get run over just to see how fast he could go. Driver’s already never respected bike rider’s right of way. 

Beads of sweat ran down hair, matting the wild curls down. Stan ran his hands through his hair, pushing it back and out of his eyes. He needed a hair cut. As soon as his hair started falling into his eyes, Stan knew he needed a hair cut. He hated having hair in his face, especially his messy curls that frizzed up not matter what he did. 

Kicking his shoes off, and carefully placing them on the shelf of the rack that his parents kept by the door. 

“How was your day,” his mom called as he scurried to his room while preparing their lunch. He’d never understood how his mom managed to be a perfect housewife straight out of the fifties. Stan hated how neither of his parents ever seemed to have trouble with being perfect. 

“Good,” he replied, grabbing a bag of trail mix. He was always good. Not fine, good. Fine implied that his day could have been better. No teenager could answer fine without inviting more questions. 

Stan was practiced at being good. 

“Lunch will be ready in half an hour.” Like always. 

He didn’t bother responding as he halted outside of his room. What if Bill had left? What if . . .What if? 

_A bird’s eye takes up fifty percent of its head._

Taking a deep breath, he walked in. 

Bill was sprawled out on the floor, shirtless, and flipping through Stan’s books. All of the books were spread out around him, open. Stan tried not to think about how bad that was for the book’s spine. He ran his finger’s over the glossy pages, plants diagramed carefully and surrounded by information on each species. 

Jolting when Stan entered, he looked up at him flushing pink. “S-s-sorry.” 

“You shouldn’t leave books open like that. It cracks the spine.” 

“Ssorry,” Bill mumbled, getting up from his spot on the floor. “I wuh-was  j-just looking at the p-pictures.”

“It’s a good book,” Stan added, hoping to smooth over any ruffled feathers. He was so bad at this. He never knew the right thing to say and Bill looked about a second from leaving. “It goes over what megaspores are instead of just assuming you know all the terminology.”

“I w-wouldn’t know,” Bill says softly, looking down. 

“You can read,” Stan asked carefully, “can’t you?”

The boy shakes his head, looking out the window. Stan’s room has the only view of the ocean in the house. It’s not the best view, half obscured by sand dunes, but it still makes him feel like he’s not really here, like he’s out _there_. It’s a stupid thing to think. 

Stan doesn’t know how to respond. More questions. Who is this boy who can’t even read?

“Oh,” is his eloquent response.

“I can a little,” Bill finally says, “b-b-but dad thinks its w-wrong.” Which makes exactly zero sense to Stan and just makes him want to find out more and maybe have a talk with Bill’s parents. Who the hell doesn’t think reading is useful!

“Wuh-when will we go looking for G-guh-georgie?”

“Food first,” Stan says handing over the bag of trail mix and his bottle of water that he’d filled back up at school despite Eddie’s protests about how much contamination and lead was in tap water. He’d refused to drink any tap water after learning that the government added fluoride to the water. 

Bill accepted the food and bottle, greedily gulping down the whole thing in one go. He should have left him with more water that morning and food judging from how he was stuffing his face. 

Stan tried not to stare but it was hard not to when Bill was shirtless. He was all lean muscle, smooth skin with a trail of light hair leading down-Stan swallowed thickly, forcing himself to look away. 

“Where’s my blanket,” Bill asked carefully, too steady to be effortless, after he had his fill of the trail mix. According to Eddie, it had all the nutrients and calories a person needed on a daily basis. 

“What,” Stan said before it hit him, “Shit. Fuck. I’m sorry. I forgot it in Mike’s car. We can get it back after he’s done with practice. I promise.”

Horror was written clear on his face no matter how much he tried to look like it was fine as he nodded, probably didn’t trust himself to speak. Stan saw right through Bill. He was too much of an open book for Stan not to see how uncomfortable Bill was at being without that for blanket. 

Stan wondered if it was his brothers. It made sense seeing at how desperate to go looking for the kid Bill was. 

“Do you know where he could have gone?”

“I t-th-thought he was lost. But he w-wuh-would have come hom-mm-hom-back by now if he had.” Bill looks on the verge of tears. Stan has never been good with tears. “I think he’ssss,” he pauses, rubbing at his temples, “I think he m-might have been cau-uh-ught or trapped.”  

“So you have no clue where to start looking,” Stan says because honestly Bill, what the hell does caught mean? He needs clear answers and perimeters. All of this is too vague. 

But he did promise. 

The right thing to do, according to his dad, is to hand Bill over to the cops and let the officials take care of this. 

 _Cardinals like to cover themselves in ants._ _Scientists still don’t know why._

He promised. 

“There hasn’t been any kids found. What does your brother look like?”

Bill shrugged, offering Stan a small smile, “like me, bb-but he’s only eleven and he has brown eyes. He all-always listens and he’s nice, too nice s-sometimes.”

“So he could be anywhere?”

Bill shakes his head hard, “he w-wuh-would have come back by now. I t-told him-he knows I’d find him _there_.” He curls into himself then, wrapping his arms around himself tightly while looking distraught. 

Stan wishes he could make him feel better, but he also is gagging at the thought of holding someone like that. He could let Bill use him to steady himself, he could even let Bev run her hand through his hair as they all sat in Mike’s living room to marathon the latest marvel-netfilx show. But an actual embrace would be too much.

“I s-sh-should have never let him g-go play. I knew there wuh-was a s-sss-storm rolling in. I-“

“It wasn’t your fault, “ Stan says even if it sounds like it was. He doesn’t know anything for sure to say much. 

Bill gazes at him, looking right at him with his deep blue eyes, rimmed red and glassy. No one ever looks at Stan like that, like they actually see him, not the person he’s presenting to the world. “Th-thanks.”

Stan thinks of how much he hated when people would mess up his things on purpose, how he hated when his parents ignored how he wanted things done. “Let’s go get you fur blanket back first. Then we’ll start looking around for your brother.”

“Okay.”


	2. fractured moonlight

For the first time in his life, Stan doesn’t start right on his homework as soon he finishes up eating, right after school. He gives Bill a shirt of his, pleased with how nice Bill looked in an oxford even if he wore it all wrong. Stan had gotten him to tuck the shirt in, but that had only lasted for a minute before the shirt was all wrinkled.

Stan had left him to play on his laptop while he was eating. He’d muted the computer beforehand, preventing any incidents. 

With an easy, “I’m going to study,” he excused himself as his father drove back to work and his mother cleaned up. They waited until he dad had driven out before sneaking out of his window. Stan easily got out while Bill ended up falling on his face on the grass, looking more amused than anything, ginning at Stan. 

He couldn’t help but laugh. 

It was careful balancing act to bike with another person hanging on. It had been easier when he’d been a kid that barely weighted anything with a bunch of other kids. They’d gone barreling down hills, clinging onto each other, being so stupid but confident the way kids are that they wouldn’t get seriously hurt. 

That was, until Eddie had broken an arm. 

Bill’s back was ramrod straight as he sat on the handle bars. Trying his best not to fall off or tip them over while Stan craned to see. He was heavier than he looked. 

“W-wuh-walking would have been easier,” Bill quips, after they settle into a rhythm. 

Stan snorts, “It would have taken longer. Your like a baby giraffe when you walk.”

“Wuh-what’s a gir-raffe?”

“See,” Stan snaps good-naturedly, “there you go again. You say things and do things and ugh.” He sighs before starting again. “How do you not know how to read? How do you not know what a giraffe is? How the hell do you act like you’ve never seen half the things you should have?”

Silence. 

He can see his shoulders tense up, before sighing softly. It’s such a hopeless and tired thing. Bill’s probably more wound up then him. It is his brother that’s missing after all. 

Stan’s tired of not knowing, of deliberately being kept in the dark when he’s been so accommodating and he didn’t have to. He should have done what his father would have. 

Bill places one of his hands over Stan’s, they’re warm despite the wind. It doesn’t matter that the sun is out, this time of year, it’s always cold. 

They’re nearly there. 

Just a few more miles. 

“C-can I trust you,” Bill asks him, barely more than a whisper. 

It wasn’t what he had been expecting. Stan wants to automatically say yes, but that would be a lie. He wants Bill to trust him. Bill who’s so comfortable in his own skin and looks at Stan like he’s important without knowing how he’s doing in school and where he’s applied to college. 

For Bill, maybe Stan can try to be the person who helps people without any reason to. Maybe Stan can be more than someone who when his dad says jump, his only question is how high. 

But that isn’t him. It jus isn’t. 

He started by trying to live up to his dad’s expectation, burying himself under being good and doing great and now he doesn’t remember who he is under all that. Stan has to be more than that. Right? Or maybe he’s just a hollow shell. Maybe there’s nothing more to him than a mask. 

He finally settles on, “depends.”

Bill shakes his head, turning to face Stan, meeting his eyes, not caring about the lack of space between them. It’s the most serious the Stan has seen him. “No. I need to know I c-can trust yuh-you Stan.” 

The way he says his name makes Stan’s chest honest to god, flutters. 

He nods, helpless in the face of Bill’s pouting lips and the sincerity in his voice. Bill barely knows Stan. Stan barely knows Bill, and he’s already done so many countless things for this boy. 

He doesn’t want to think about how far he’s willing to go. 

Satisfied, Bill turns around and stays quite for the rest of the way there, his back relaxed as he sits on the handle bars. 

*

Mike isn’t there. 

He’s skipped practice to drive Richie, Bev, Eddie, and Ben out to the marine research center where Richie’s parents worked. None of them except for Mike had a car. It was a shitty car that had once belonged to one of Mike’s uncles. He had been the only one to save money for a car. 

That left him pretty much the designated driver for everything. 

“Tell my main man Mike he’s a bitch for ditching practice,” Belch says grinning, “not a very captainly thing to do.” He wags a finger at Stan. 

Belch was a total sports airhead. On the field, he was amazing, but he was barely snapping by in the college prep classes. In elementary school and even occasionally in middle school, he’d picked on all of them. A classic bully, but now he had something to channel all his energy into. 

Stan still hadn’t forgiven him for all the shit he’d said and done over the years. 

Owls devour their prey whole if they’re small. 

“I’ll be sure to tell him that,” Stan replied from the edge of the turf. It smelled like shit and sweat despite being in the open air. Too many athletes in one place. Mike had said that many don’t wash their gear often because of how much work it is. 

“S’that your girlfriend,” Belch asks, glancing at Bill who’s taking everything in from behind Stan. He’d had to grab Bill’s wrist to keep him from wandering off. 

Stan blanches for a second before schooling his expression, glancing at Bill, who seems not to have heard. “It’s twenty seventeen,” Stan glares, “homophobia’s not cool Reginald.” 

“Didn’t mean it like that,” he says with a smear before chuckling. “Always finding strays, you and your friends,” he shakes his head, and turns to leave, going back to practice. 

“Mike’s not here,” he says, looking over at Bill who doesn’t look surprised, but doesn’t look away from the other high schoolers practicing. Stan wonders if maybe Bill’s part of some cult that home schools. It would explain a lot. “Do you play any sports,” Stan asks. 

“Not really,” Bill says, finally looking over at Stan, resting against the fence bordering the field. 

“There you go again,” Stan says, not meaning to smile fondly. It’s too early for fondness. A whole school year passed before he warmed up to Richie. 

Bill laughs, running his hand through what he imagines to be soft tufts of hair. “I wuh-wouldn’t call cliff d-diving a sport but,” he shrugs, “I never could ignore Aurdra’s taunting and its f-fun once huh-you d-dd-decide to jump.”

Audra. 

It stings more than it should. 

Stan gets to his point, ruining the moment. “They’ve gone to hang out with Richie’s parents. But that’s fifteen miles out of town.” 

Bill nods, waiting for Stan to go on. 

“How would you like to learn how to ride a bike?”

With all the enthusiasm of a puppy, Bill nods, grinning. It’s the happiest Stan has seen him. 

*

Slowly, but surely, they make their way towards the marine center. Stan had gotten Ben’s bike since he lived the closest to school. Secretly, he wondered if this plan would actually work seeing as Bill tired from just walking. 

He had fallen over twice, left cheek scratched up from falling, but none of it kept Bill from laughing at himself. He’d not even slowed down going down a hill, which Stan always did, taking his hands off the handles all while shouting, “look at me S-Stan! I’ve guh-got this!” 

Stan hadn’t bothered to hide his laughter. 

It was so easy. 

He started telling Bill all about how hard it was too learn to read the Torah when his dad just expected him too know and didn’t bother to actually sit down and teach him. The stores of the bird he’d accidentally killed while trying to nurse it back to health, something he hadn’t thought about in years, came out. It had been injured and Stan had been seven. He hadn’t known what they needed yet. Stan tells Bill how the very thought of having to study finance physically and mentally repulses him. 

“Why d-don’t you juh-just learn about something you like,” Bill says easily, like Stan’s entire future and job prospects don’t depend on getting into the best colleges and studying something that ensures employment, Bill who probably doesn’t even know what an account does or is. Most people probably don’t know that one, Stan thinks. 

Hell, he didn’t even know until his dad sat him down for a talk about his options. Not his choice, not advice from his dad, but options. 

A, B, C, or D. 

Bubble in the right answer. 

There can be only one right answer. 

_Most hummingbirds weigh less than a nickel._

“It’s not that easy,” Stan says, the smile that had formed from talking to Bill fading. “It’s way more complicated than that.”

“Is it,” Bill asked, “I mean, it’s yuh-your life and there’s no right w-way to live it.” He’s caught up to Stan, looking over at him. Bill’s eyes are usually on the beach. Sea level is lower than the road, so the water isn’t visible from the road, but Bill seems to not care. 

Stan can’t believe how easy Bill makes it sound. He doesn’t know how to disappoint his parents. He doesn’t know how to do what he wants instead of what he should. Stan doesn’t even know what he wants. 

“You don’t understand,” he tells Bill, “I have to study finance or accounting or economics. It’s where the money is.”

“And y-you need mon-money?”

“Yes,” Stan says because it’s true. His family isn’t rich. He needs money just to live, to pay rent and buy food and pay the bills that he’ll eventually have. Donald had been very frank with Stan about their financial situation. 

“A lot of it?”

Stan doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s never envisioned himself as a millionaire, but he does want a comfortable life where he can take vacations and not worry about money. “Enough.”

“How much is eno-o-ough,” Bill asks, “is it worth hating wuh-what you study? W-what you’ll do for the rest of your life?”

“I’m not about to take advice from someone who can’t read,” Stan snaps, knowing that will hurt him. He doesn’t want to hear this. He doesn’t want to think about the possibility that he’ll go through life hating himself. That he’ll never stop feeling incompetent. 

It still hurts when he sees Bill reaction, flushing bright red in shame as he ducks his head, refusing to met Stan’s eye. 

He wishes he could take it back. 

Why can’t he ever say the right thing? 

There have always been unseen rules in society that Stan has never been able to innately know the way everyone else does. The way even Richie does, even if he chooses to ignore them. It had taken him so long to carefully observe others before he could hash them out, before he could start following them. 

“Bill,” he calls out, “Bill, I-“

Stan had meant it. He just regretted it now. 

“It’s a rough subject for me,” he admits. “Still shouldn’t have lashed out at you. I’m sorry. I’ll teach you to read if you want. Bill?” 

The other teen looks back at Stan, still hurt. “It’s oh-okay,” he finally says. They both know it really wasn’t. 

Tense silence dampens the mood for the rest of the way there.

*

The Derry County marine and wildlife research and rehabilitation center didn’t look like much from the outside, but it more than made up for it in the people who worked there. They loved their shit low paying jobs and figured out the semantics of taking in more animals that needed help than they could care for later. 

It was when his synagogue had had a kid’s field trip out here that he’d met Richie and Eddie. They both went to his school, but they’d never talked. 

All his friends growing up had mostly been the kids of his parents friends. 

Richie’s parents had met here and they’d gotten married soon after. Both were scientist and both were hippies trying to save the planet. They’d often let them come over and hang out. 

It was better than most places in town. 

Derry didn’t even have a mall anymore. It had closed down after the recession back in two thousand and eight. 

Bill looked nervous as they went inside. Stan had to pull him along by his wrist after he was done propping up the bikes outside. Sand got in everything and would ruin the bikes if they just dropped them on the ground like the rest of his friends did. 

“Come on,” Stan said, as they entered the building. 

He let Bill intertwine their hands together as he walked close to Stan, looking almost as freaked out as he had that morning. God, had it only been this morning? They were all gathered right where Stan had known they would be, by the pond full of turtles people had dumped when they realized how big they could get and got lazy about cleaning tanks. 

They were all in various positions on the ground in a rough circle. Ben had his notebook out, just in case he had to write a good idea down, he’d won a small prize in a poetry competition just a month ago, his head in Beverly’s lap as she munches on cookies curtesy of Eddie and his overflowing pantry. 

Richie kept flicking cards out at Eddie, one of the three magic tricks he’d learned during his magic phase. It had been embarrassing for all of them. Eddie kept trying to slap Richie away. at any moment now, they’d be wrestling on the ground. 

Relaxing next to Eddie, Mike had his homework out. He looked up at Stan and just shook his head. Kids will be kids. 

“Stan, my man,” Richie called, throwing all of his cards at Eddie in favor of flicking them one by one, “don’t tell me you actually biked all the way here,” his mouth forming an exaggerated O.  

“You lazy fuck,” Eddie said, launching himself at Richie, tackling him to the ground. Eddie had once been the shortest one of the group, but a recent growth spurt had left him almost as tall as Richie, shorter by a measly inch, a fact neither of them would let go. 

“Hey there Yelnats,” Beverly waved, “cookie? They’re not gluten free for once.” 

“I’m good,” he said sitting down by Mike, who had already laid out his letterman jacket. By now, they all knew Stan would never risk the grass stains to sit on the bare ground. 

“Hey Bill,” Mike said, looking up at Bill who was still standing, hovering awkwardly by Stan. 

“You can sit down,” Beverly said as six pairs of eyes stared at Bill. That was all the encouragement he needed to plop down next to Stan. 

“Another kid from the synagogue Stan,” Richie asked, having finally said uncle at Eddie. He looked Bill over, making a whole show of it. Stan wish he had something to throw at Richie, but Bill didn’t seem bothered, wearing the same easy smile he tended to when he wasn’t sure what to do. There was a certain idiotic optimism to it that made Stan weak. Dopey, but endearing. 

“You don’t look jewish,” Richie told Bill. 

“That is so fucking offensive Richie,” Eddie said, smacking the back of Richie’s head. This happened multiple times throughout the day, them smacking Richie to get him to shut the hell up. 

“Ow, you piece of shit. I’m just saying,” he said grabbing a handful of Eddie’s sweet potato chips, blowing a raspberry at Eddie. “I’m like half jewish too so. . .”

Ben sighed. 

“I’m sorry about them,” Mike said.

Stan grinned over at Bill, “we keep trying to get rid of him but he’s like a persistent barnacle.”

Bill laughed. 

“You don’t have to pretend Stan’s funny Bill,” Richie says, “I’m here for you.”

“You know like two jokes!”

“Not what your mom said last night!”

 “Nice to meet you Bill,” Ben said, “I’m Ben, that’s Eddie and Richie. They’re sort of a two packaged deal.”

“I thought we were a six packaged deal,” Beverly teases.“I’m Beverly.”

“Nice to meet y-you,” Bill says, and Stan can tell he means it, always so genuine. Maybe it’s enough that Bill believes in Stan. Maybe he doesn’t have to be successful the way his dad wants him to be. Stan could always as they say, move the goal posts. 

Now that they’d given him an excuse, Stan ran with it. “He’s staying at my place for a few days. His parents think that staying with the rabbi will straighten him out,” he says as saccadic as ever.

They all burst into laughter at that. All except for Bill and he really hopes it’s because the joke went over his head and not because he’s straight. He’d still help Bill, but Stan has more feelings for Bill in less than a day than he’s had for anyone else in his life. 

_Chickens have over two hundred distinct noises for communicating._

They all settle into easy conversation. They’ve all been friends for years, but they make sure that Bill doesn’t feel left out. 

Mike’s the only one who get’s any homework done even if Eddie had claimed they were studying. Stan groans when he thinks of all the homework he’ll have to do when he gets home. At least he’d done all his other assignments early. 

“Stanny didn’t do his homework before going out to play,” Richie mocks and even Beverly laughs. 

“At least I’m not failing art which is the easiest class dumbass,” Stan easily retorts. 

“That’s not my fault! Mr. Gunther hates my ass! ”

“Can’t say that I blame him.”

“Savage,” Ben says, nodding sagely. 

Richie and Beverly decided to stay since Mrs. Tozier, “just call me Ada, Mrs. Tozier is my wife,” was going home soon and she could just drive them both to their house. 

Wordlessly, Mike helped Stan shove the bikes in the back leaving Ben and Eddie to sit shotgun so that everything fit in the back. Bill was practically sitting in Stan’s lap, but he had stopped caring as soon as he had his hands around his blanket which looked more like a fur rug now that Stan got a good look at it. 

Crowded as they were, it was impossible for Stan to not get a feel for the soft material, fur. It was even softer than Stan had imagined, if that was possible, looking like copper in the setting sun. 

Stan couldn’t help but look sheepish when Bill caught him running his hands through the soft fur. He’d been so intently looking it over, that Stan hand’t even noticed when he’d stopped. 

It felt intimate, their bodies huddled together even if it was just because they had to be. The bikes took up a lot of room in the car. 

“It’s o-okay,” Bill said softly practically against his ear while looking earnestly at Stan, “I trust y-you.”

He couldn’t bring himself to run his finger though the fur when Bill was looking at him like he’d just given him the moon. Stan was careful, closing in on himself, to not accidentally bump against Bill or the fur whatever it was, more than he had to.

*

They snuck back into Stan’s room without a problem and right as his mom knocked to let him know dinner was ready. 

“I’ll try to get you something more substantial than trail mix,” he told Bill before leaving him alone in his room yet again. 

Since Stan was Stan, and not stupid, he forced himself to eat at his usual pace instead of rushing back up to his room. That would raise questions that Stan couldn’t afford. 

His dad would call the cops and let them sort it all out. Stan couldn’t just let them take Bill away like that, not when Bill had told Stan that he trusted him. 

“You finish your homework son,” Donald asks in between bites. Family dinners are long. His dad thought they shouldn’t rush to eat since they had plenty. 

“Yes,” Stan said, hoping the word liar wasn’t tattooed on his forehead. 

“Good.”

“How was work,” his mom asked.

“Good,” Donald said because no one in this family ever really talked. Stan wanted to stand up and scream. He settled for fixing the decor in the middle of the table. 

“Thank you Stanley,” his mom said, and that was that. 

By the time he finally put the dishes in the sink and finished helping clean up, the itch under his skin was unbearable. He almost slammed the door. 

“I hate this family,” he said as soon as he walked in, carefully arranging the bread and fruit he’d smuggled up on his desk. Stan hated eating in his room, wasn’t even allowed to, but Bill hadn’t had more than trail mix today.

Bill nodded to show Stan he was listening as he tore a piece of bread of and ate it, “go on.”

“No one ever talks. It’s like they’re reading from as script but forgot to give me one! Are they even happy? Do they even love each other? Do they care or are they just doing this because it’s what you’re supposed to do? They watched a sitcom and just went with it,” he hissed. His eyes burned and he could feel tears start to escape. Stan hated crying, hated how he always cried when he got angry. “Just once I’d like for them to ask how my day was and actually care! Not just wait for me to say good and move on.”

Bill walked over and hugged him, wrapping his arms around Stan, his head rising against Stan’s throat. He was warm and soft and still smelled like saltwater. He hugged Stan tightly, trying to covey all his emotions through words. 

Stan stiffed, he couldn’t help it. He hated being touched like this by people. It was all too much for him. But he didn’t want to pull away either. 

“My po-my people,” Bill whispers against Stan’s neck, sending shivers down his spine, “were not all related by b-bl-blood, but we’re all f-family. They took us in ah-af-after my parents died. B-Brought us ff-food even when we didn’t-.” He shook his head slightly. “These people aren’t your family,” Bill said carefully, “your f-family are yuh-your friends. They’d do anything for you. That’s f-f-family.”

Stan pulled away, heart heavy. He didn’t want to talk bout this anymore. “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

So clinical and empty. What you were _supposed_ to say. 

Bill shrugged, “they s-saved Georgie.” 

“I’ll get you some blankets so you can sleep on the floor,” Stan said, feeling just as empty as his voice sounded. Go through the motions. Go through the motions. 

In ancient greece, pigeons delivered the results of the olympic games. 

He brought out all the blankets in his room, arranging them with a practiced precision until he felt right about the layout. The decorative pillows would come in handy for once. 

Handing Bill something to sleep in, he went to start on his homework, aware that he’d be up late because he hadn’t done it earlier. 

Wordlessly, Bill started flipping trough the books again, taking in what he could. It was distracting. Stan couldn’t focus on his homework with Bill right there. He had folded up the fur and set it right next to him on the makeshift bed. 

Stan’s parents didn’t wake him up so there was no risk of them entering and finding Bill in the morning. They were, after all, creatures of habit. 

*

It’s past one in the morning by the time Stan has finished everything he had written on his agenda, careful not to make noise as he organizes his backpack and clothes for tomorrow. 

Bill had fallen asleep at some point, still on top of the covers, book left open yet again. His face looks softer asleep, devoid of his usual steady smile and the stress from his missing brother. Stan finds himself think about Bill hugging him, warm and solid against him, lips against his skin. He’d only meant to comfort Stan, and he had, but he’d also just made Stan want him more than he already did if that was possible. 

Shaking his head, he turns off the light and goes to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> richies parents are science lesbians. bills parents are dead (pennywise the shark). i think thats all. thoughts?


	3. Oh, baby I get by

They started their search for Georgie in town.

Kids were always taught to go to a cop or authority figure if they got lost so it was a good place to start. And if anyone had found him, they would have brought him into town. 

Stan had gotten a map of Derry, the town and the surrounding area, dividing it into perfect squares then signing the area importance based on how likely a boy was to be there, crossing out each square as they went. 

If he had had a picture of Bill’s brother, he would have made missing child posters too. The search was made harder by looking for a missing boy that Stan didn’t know. He had no real clue other than Bill to go by. 

Asking around town as discreetly as he could to avoid drawing attention and his parents getting involved for Bill’s sake, Stan tried not to feel hopeless out the whole thing. Bill followed behind him like a puppy, getting lost more than once inside a store. 

They both got ice cream even though it wasn’t summer, walking around for hours was exhausting. Stan always got strawberry in a sugar cone. He’d never understood the craze around waffle cones.

Bill had gotten a sample of almost every flavor before settling on chocolate chip, nearly finishing his scoop before they’d even left the shop. 

“We can get more later,” Stan told him, grinning as Bill licked his lips. 

“I’d like that,” Bill had grinned right back. 

They had carefully made their way across town to pick back up where they’d left off the day before, walking through dry grass that made his skin itch. Stan’s bike had been left a little inroads, hidden by some bushes. 

He hadn’t been able to stop from taking out his bird book while they searched, or buying an old edition of essential ornithology even if he had a more recent copy from the used book store next to the community center where Stan’s mother always volunteered at.

They drank cokes as they visited the neighborhood next to Stan’s.

Being further for the beach and closer to town, there were actual parks where Stan and Bill checked the slides. Bill choked on his first sip of coke, coughing, eyes tearing up. 

Between laughs Stan explained, “It’s the carbonation. See all the little bubbles. That’s why I always wait five minutes before drinking.”

“It hurts,” Bill had said bewildered, “b-but I can’t ss-stop drinking it.” 

They’d both laughed, ignoring the looks they got from the nannies looking after all the kids. The houses were nicer in this neighborhood than in Stan’s, but he wouldn’t trade the sea for anything. 

They moved their search from the town and neighborhoods to the area around having combed through all the areas Stan had designated as most likely to find Georgie in.

Stan had been sure that they’d find the boy in town. Where else was there for a boy to be? The next town was more than twenty miles in land and a kid couldn’t survive very long in the wild or even a large park as it was. It started to seem hopeless as the days went on with no sign of the boy.

He was careful not to show that around Bill.

But as the days wore on and they combed through the area, Bill grew more and more restless. It was starting to wear on him, being cooped up all day, forced to be silent as he waited for Stan to get out of school and finding no sign of his brother. At least he was no longer tripping over his own feet. 

Stan was starting to worry that Bill would go out on his own and Stan would never see him again, gone just like he appeared. 

_The Ameraucana and Araucana can lay green or blue eggs._

“I told Mike I’d go over to his house today,” he told Bill as he finished up math homework. Sometimes Stan wished math was his special interest, he’d be a cliche, but it would make his homework a lot easier. 

“Oh,” Bill said, ducking his head while he kept flicking the fidget spinner he’d taken out from the case Stan had left it in. It had been a gag gift from Richie, who had bought them as often as his teachers took them away.  “But wuh-what about G-guh-georgie,” he said, voice cracking. 

“They’re starting to get worried,” Stan said, the lie rolling off his lips easily, “They haven’t seen me outside of class all week and we usually spend our free time together.” 

“Oh. All right t-th-then,” Bill said as he finished up folding the blankets he’d been using as a bed the way Stan had taught him, “I’ll guh-go out alone then t-today and I’ll let yuh-you know if I f-find anything.”

Stan smiled. No one had ever really cared about putting things where they belonged, not really. They might try, but even his parents grew tired of trying to pacify Stan and his neuroses. 

It took Bill quite a few times after watching Stan carefully, but one day Stan had gotten back and his room had been just how he liked it, just how he needed it. He hadn't even known Bill had noticed. 

“Come with me,” Stan asked carefully, “It’ll be fun and I’m pretty sure Georgie’s found a safe place to hole up, that’s why we haven’t found him.”

Silence. 

The smell of saltwater in the air so thick you could taste the salt on your lips. 

The wind rustling the curtain, the sound that had lulled him to sleep for years. 

Bill rubbed the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, “I couldn’t-I w-wuh-wuh-won’t f-forgive myself if-f anything happened to him.” His voice was thick with emotion. 

_Nipponia nippon is the only member of the genus Nipponia. There are probably fewer than fifty alive today._

In that moment, Stan wished desperately he could offer Bill comfort, that he could go up to him and hug him the way Mike or Ben would have, and made everything okay for those few moments. 

But he wasn’t. 

All Stan could offer was words, “He’ll be alright. You’ll see, It will all turn out alright Bill. I promise.” He wanted to believe it himself, for Bill’s sake. 

“Y-yeah.”

*

Stan had gotten to be an expert at biking around with Bill sitting on the handle bars. There was no more awkward tilting of the bike where he felt they were sure to fall over. No more Bill shifting every five seconds to try and get comfortable. 

Bill’s long and unkempt hair flew in every direction, his arms out stretched. 

“I’m the king of the world,” Stan giggled, smile wide on his lips, breathless at how happy and careless Bill looked, his hair copper in the sunlight. 

“Wuh-what,” Bill asked, eyes sparkling, the blue in his eyes looking as deep as the sea on the rare days the waves weren’t churning up all the sand. 

“It’s from a movie,” Stan said blushing.

“D-do y-yuh-you like it?”

“Yeah.” Richie would never let it go, but Stan truly liked Titanic. 

“Then I w-want to wuh-watch it.” 

Stan smiled so hard his cheeks hurt. “Later.”

The wind was against them. It took longer than it should have to reach Mike’s, but if the wind didn’t change they’d have a short ride home. 

They were the last ones there, his friends laughter audible from outside. Stan placed his bike on the kickstand. 

Bill waited for him to go inside first. 

“Stan my man,” Richie yelled, ducking a fistful of flour that Eddie had thrown at him. “Glad to know you’re still alive.”

“Unfortunately.”

Beverly wiped frosting on his cheek, “still not funny.”

“What are you talking about,” Stan deadpanned, “I’m hilarious.” He wiped away the frosting  with his hand, accepting the napkin Ben offered him. He was wearing the apron that Richie had bought him, in fuchsia lettering proclaiming kiss the cook. 

Mike was manning the stove. 

“Y’know just because you’ve got a boyfriend doesn’t mean you can ditch us all the time,” Eddie spoke.

“I feel that as an ace person,” Richie started, “you can’t say shit.”

“Take it back now you piece of shit!”

“Make me!”

“We’re making mac and cheese and cake. Beverly brought weed brownies too,” Mike spoke up. 

“And the good kind not that shit Richie brought last time,” Beverly said. 

“I bring you guys weed and this is how you repay me! Slander!”

“Shitty dollar tree kush,” Beverly replied back. 

“And after I shared my weed with you! How dare you Beaverly!”

Eddie scoffed, “This is why no one likes you.”

“Pffft trash the trash mouth.”

Mike laughed before turning to Stan, “The whole family’s out. Grandfather just said not to burn the place down.”

“Want a brownie,” Ben asked Bill, who had been hovering in the hallway behind Stan. He’d forgotten that Bill was with him. 

“S-sure,” Bill said snatching one out of the plastic ziplock bag by the counter. He offered the bag to Stan who shook his head. 

“I’m good.”

“Not a school night Staniel,” Richie said from where he was laying on the floor. 

“Fuck off.”

Mike heaped mac and cheese onto their plates. The coffee table was topped with soda and chips courtesy of Eddie who’s mom drove every Saturday to the nearest Costco to stockpile food like she was feeding an army. 

“The cake’ll be done an another half and hour,” Ben said as he sat down on Mike’s lap. 

“X-files?”

“We are gonna watch Parks and Recs after that math test,” Richie scowled. 

“We’re not gonna watch that again,” Eddie said rolling his eyes. “Besides, Arrested Development is better.”

“Sharknado.”

“Fuck yes Beverly!”

“Nooooo.”

“It is Mike’s house. Mike decides,” Stan said before they needed up fighting over what to watch the whole night. 

“Let’s start with Clue.”

“Wise choice my honeybee.”

They all chorused, “Richie.”

Bill laughed by Stan side, looking more at ease in Stan’s polo than Stan had ever felt in his own skin. 

_The atlantic puffin spends the autumn and winter in the open ocean of the cold northern seas._

They eat until eat themselves into a food comma while watching netflix. It’s less watching than Richie and Eddie having an argument every five minutes that usually ends with one or both of them kicking the other. Beverly throws chips at Ben and Mike, occasionally making it into their mouths, occasionally interrupting a kiss. 

After the each finish eating and Stan cleans up for them because someone has too, leaving Bill alone with his friends. His stomach twists with jealousy as Beverly strikes up a conversation with him. It’s only been a few days, not even a week, but Stan has spent so much time with Bill, both of them seemingly in their own world. It had been nice but he has to remind himself that as soon as they find Gerogie he probably won’t ever see Bill again. Bill, who probably doesn’t even like Stan, Stan who can barely handle being touched let alone having an actual boyfriend. 

Stan washes the dishes twice, once with soap and once without. 

When he comes back they’ve spread out a bunch of blankets and pillows on the floor. Beverly’s claimed one sofa.

It was her turn to have it.

They always let Stan have the sofa by the window, a blankets and two pillows on it waiting for him to arrange it the way it was supposed to be instead of the mess of blankets Richie and Eddie liked that always ended with them waking up on the bare floor. 

Mike had moved the coffee table to the side. 

“Wuh-we’re w-watching Pride and Prejudice,” Bill whispered when he sat down next to him. “Ben wanted to.” 

“I wanted Legally Blonde,” Eddie said, “but Beverly betrayed us.”

“Fucking girls,” Richie said shaking his head, “smh.”

“It’s buh-boring,” Bill admitted wrinkling his nose. 

“There’s no accounting for taste,” Stan snapped back.

“Savage,” Beverly grinned, all teeth. 

Carefully, Stan made his bed, unbuttoning his shirt like he did every night and folding it up to keep it from wrinkling. He’d sleep in his undershirt. His watch ended up on the windowsill for lack of a better place to keep it or else it would dig into his skin and keep him up all night. 

Bill curled up on the floor next to him as Mr. Darcy told Lizzy he wanted to marry her and Lizzy proceeded to give him the sickest burn in Edwardian literature. 

He drifted off to sleep as Lizzy told her father how wrong she’d been about Mr. Darcy who was remembered as Mr. Darcy since it sounded miles better than Fitzwilliam. 

*

He was woken up by Bill. The tv was off and the whole house was silent. The only light came from the moon outside. 

“Bill,” he whispered, still sounding to loud, sluggish from sleep, “Where are you going?”

Stan got up and followed him, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, pausing to tug his shoes on. He wasn’t sure if Bill was even aware of him.  

He walked behind him until they reached the water, tide high at this time of night, waves white and angry.  It was October which meant the water was freezing, coming down from the arctic with no summer sun to warm it. Bill walked right in with no hesitation. 

He was in to his knees before Stan called out to him, half terrified that he’d just keep walking until his head went under. “Bill! It’s freezing! Come back inside! Bill!”

Cuffing his jeans up, Stan followed him, “Come back inside Bill.”

Sniffling Bill stared out at the sea with such longing, his eyes glassy. Stan reached out to him, his hand resting lightly on Bill’s arm.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really,” Bill finally spoke, seemingly unaware of how cold the water was overtime it came up to them. Stan’s feet were quickly growing numb. “It’s so d-different f-from wha the stories say. And I do like it-,” he broke off, turing away from the waves to look at Stan, “I like y-yuh-you. But I wuh-want to go home and I c-can’t. I need to f-f-find my brother. I w-wuh-won’t leave w-without him.”

“Hey,” Stan said, his hand cupping Bill’s cheek, “we’ll find him. And we can still-we’ll still hang out.”

Bill smiled bitterly, “y-yeah,” and then he leaned in to kiss Stan. His lips were soft. He tasted nothing like the food they’d had earlier but rather like a mouthful of sea water. 

“I’m ss-s-sorry,” he mumbled, pulling away. 

“Don’t be,” Stan said, blushing furiously, “I liked it. I like you, but I’ve lost feeling in my toes so we should probably head back inside.”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its rough but i wrote something to kick my writers block. this is mostly development between stan and bill so yeah. ty for reading.


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